Chapter 29

Chapter 29
I still feel groggy and half-asleep. We’re on the shoot, but my mind is trapped in outer space, where breathing feels optional. We’re in the apartment, shooting for my debut. We haven’t gotten a great shot of me yet.

“Did you get enough sleep, Elise?” Mr. Archer asks, approaching me. “Or are you still sick?”

“I’m fine.” My voice sounds dead, and I feel like a puppet being controlled by someone I don’t know.

Mr. Kite walks closer to me. “Go home and get some sleep.” he says.

“But I’m fine!” I insist.

“Elise, you’re not okay. Just go home and rest. Whatever is on your mind? Let it go. Your mood affects everything!” he yells.

I sigh and look down at my feet. I haven’t read any of Harry’s texts. I received more messages from him earlier.

I grab my stuff and head to the dressing room to change. On my way to the corridor, I see Harry standing by the door, leaning against the wall, looking at me. His eyes look pained—like I’ve never seen before. The spark is gone. The electricity is gone. Did I make it all up just to believe there was something between us? Or did he use it to get closer to me? He looks tired, worried, and sad. He knows something’s wrong, just by looking at me. But I don’t want to talk. Not yet. I want to ask him everything. Just not now.

He steps closer to me. I step back. He stops.

“Can we please talk?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks again.

I shake my head again.

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?”

“N… Not. NOW.” My voice shakes.

I’m about to cry, and I don’t want him to see. I rush to my mother. He sees this vulnerable side of me—he shouldn’t have to see me like this again.

Mom is sitting on the couch. When she sees me, she jumps up and opens her arms. I let myself fall into her embrace. This is what I need right now. I sob into her arms. I’ve been holding back these tears since the night I found out—but I don’t have to hold them in anymore. I just can’t keep holding this gaping hole in my stomach. Sometimes, it’s better to let it out.

“Harry’s here. Are you two fighting?” she asks.

I shake my head. Because we’re not. I just know something he doesn’t know I know.

“Elise.” It’s Harry’s voice.

“Mom, let’s go home.” My voice is muffled, but I hope she hears it clearly.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.” Mom says.

And we leave. I don’t look back. I don’t dare. His secret is too much to bear.

On the ride home, I’m so thankful that my mother is Elizabeth Hernandez. She knows when to ask and when to respect my silence.

I head straight to my room, shut the door, and left the lights off. I bury my head in my pillows, wishing they could burn away my worries too.

…

I wake up when the door creaks open. I look up—mom is peeking inside.

“I let Harry come in. Maybe you need to talk to him, Elise.” she says.

“But mom, last night you said I didn’t don’t need to talk to him.”

My dried-up eyes start to flood again with tears I can’t stop. They’ve always been there—I just thought they were gone.

He steps into the room. I look at mom—she looks sad and helpless. But she’s right.

“Talk to him.” she says, and closes the door, leaving us alone.

“Tell me,” he says immediately. I know what he means—but nothing makes sense.

I stare at the closed door, hoping someone will pop in and perform a miracle. Harry walks closer. I don’t blink. Tears begin to fall. Everything blurs: my vision, the world, my past, my present, my feelings, Harry.

If my life were a film, the genre would be comedy—because no one ever seems to take it seriously. Since dad died, no one has taken me seriously. If I could direct my own life, it would be different—more serious.

The one person I trusted most has shattered that trust.

“Please,” Harry pleads, kneeling in front of me.

“Where did you get the Cassiopeia necklace?” I ask. My voice is barely a whisper.

He hesitates, his face torn between truth and lies.

“A… a friend of mine gave it to me.” His voice is low. “What’s going on, babe?”

He touches my arm. I yank it away. He looks startled.

“Whose friend?” I ask, trying to sound strong.

He shakes his head. He knows where this is going. He’s giving up. This isn’t a game. So why does it feel like he’s treating it like one?

“How’d you know?” he finally breaks down. He buries his head into the mattress, gripping it like it holds the strength he’s lost. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” My voice shakes. I cry again, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” he mumbles.

“Aren’t I hurting now? Did you think you could hide this forever?!”

“I didn’t mean to lie—”

“You didn’t lie! You just meant to hide it?!” I scream. “Is this why you befriended me? To make up for what you did to her? To make me a star and feel better about yourself?”

“NO! That’s not it!” he stands suddenly.

“Explain,” I say quietly.

“She… she was a transferee at my school. At first, she found it hard to adjust.” He sat down on the bed, looking at the carpet. It was the carpet in Britney’s bedroom in America. “Then we became partners in biology. We got along until we became friends. I introduced her to my friends, but she couldn’t stand them. She told me about you—she showed me your pictures together. She wanted me to meet you. I played her my songs whenever we cut classes together.

“After a month, I told her I’d be joining a singing competition on TV. She told me that would be great. I asked her, ‘Isn’t it difficult to be famous?’ She said, ‘Promise me you won’t give up on your dream, even if it knocks you out.’ I promised her I wouldn’t. But before that—something terrible happened. That was the party.” His voice cracks. I can feel it breaking. “I didn’t want to do it, Elise. I promise you. Believe me. I even explained it to her parents—I thought they were going to sue me.”

“How did it happen?” I can’t stop crying. I thought I had no tears left.

“The party was the biggest party. Everyone at school was invited. So, I went with my friends, and I saw her. I knew she wasn’t into people at our school, but she was there. She was sitting alone near the pool, holding a cup. I told her I didn’t know she drinks. She said, ‘Life already sucks—let’s try to drain it with alcohol.’ I was in love with her.”